"It doesn't," Marcus says. His hand at her shoulder digs in. She's bony and too lean and he can't look much longer at her blistering fingers. Angry — not at her, but angry all he same — he tells her, "You ain't going to Hell. Not on my goddamn watch, you understand me? Listen. Listen, I can stop this. Whatever you think of me, I can stop this."

He's found the page. His eyes flick down. "Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" Looking up: "Say it. Come on. Call and response. 'He is my refuge and my fortress...'"